


The Traitor

by Queen_Valkyrie



Series: Fake AH Origins [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Mentions of Suicide, fem!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 18:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5344864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Valkyrie/pseuds/Queen_Valkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Redcoats called him a traitor.<br/>The Patriots called him a hero.<br/>His crew called him their leader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Traitor

**Author's Note:**

> And so begin the origin stories for the Fake AH Crew!  
> Let us start with the founder of Achievement Hunter, the real OG.  
> That's right.  
> Mr. Geoff Ramsey, ladies and gentlemen.

The year was 1779.

In Charles Town, South Carolina, all of the citizens had been rounded up by the Redcoats and gathered in the town square.

It was execution day.

The men in the crowd were stone-faced, either from a false sense of justice or a fear of the scarlet-clothed soldiers or by the request of the man who kneeled on the execution platform.

The women remained unspeaking as well, but those who had known the condemned allowed silent tears of fury to roll down their cheeks.

The children were silent out of fear.

On the wooden stage, there were only two men.

One, a Redcoat, a colonel, white-haired and wrinkled and hardened with war. He held a pistol in one hand and he lifted his chin with the knowledge of his superiority.

The other was on his knees, in a shabby, makeshift uniform vaguely resembling military garb. His black hair was dirty with dust and mud, his typically clean-shaven face showing hints of stubble that covered his chin. His sleepy, dark blue eyes were steely with fury and determination and pride, and he refused to lift his head in the presence of the colonel.

“Geoffrey Fink,” the colonel announced. “You have been sentenced to death for crimes against the crown and the country. The charges are such: rebellion, slander, slaughter of His Majesty’s soldiers, General of the colonial militia, and so-called Hero of the Battle of Monmouth. Do you deny these charges?”

The patriot lifted his head and faced the Redcoat, narrowing his blue eyes and allowing a smirk to creep across his face. “Not for a second.”

“Then, as acting leader of His Majesty’s forces in Charles Town, I hereby proceed to carry out the sentence. Does the condemned have any last words?”

“Just make sure my family doesn’t get punished for my crimes. And make sure they stay safe and well.”

The colonel’s expression softened, if only for a moment. “For the friend you once were, Fink,” he continued softly, “Your wishes will be honored.”

He raised his pistol to the patriot’s head.

The longest second in the world passed.

The colonel pulled the trigger.

Geoff Fink’s world cut to darkness.  
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And what seemed like no more than an instant later, everything exploded into light as his eyes shot open.

His breathing was heavy, and he was kneeling on the ground.

He was in an alleyway.

In Charles Town.

A few hundred yards away from where he had just been executed. Shot in the head. His hands shot up to his forehead, but there was no bullet wound. No scar. The only thing that confirmed his death was the blood in his hair.

In the distance, he heard a scream from one of the women in the crowd.

 _Of course they’re screaming_ , he thought. _I’m gone._

He stood to his feet and started running, running as far away from Charles Town as his legs, weak with shock, could carry him.

He thought for a second about returning to his wife and kids.

But he had just died in front of them. And people in this town and this time didn’t take kindly to that which went against everything they believed.

With a huff, he looked around him.

He was on a high hill, and underneath was the raging echo of the river’s constant motion. 

The river.

He trudged forward, to the highest point where the hill looked over the river, and he stared down into the raging rapids of the water.

He was supposed to be dead.

What would be the harm in testing to see if his survival was a mistake?

He let a smile hint across his face as he thought of his wife and threw himself into the water.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But all he got was soaked to the bone and significantly pissed off.

So he stole a horse from the nearest town that wasn’t Charles Town and he took off, away from the war, away from the Redcoats, away from his family.

When he found after years of living in Georgia that he didn’t age, he started running.

He lived in Alabama for a few years, and when people started getting suspicious, he ran.

Then Missouri. He ran from there too.

Kansas. He ran.

He stayed the longest in Texas. He could move around in such a large state for a good while and never encounter the same people. But he ran from Texas too.

When the Civil War broke out, he moved to West Virginia and enlisted in the Union Army.

War proved to bring back painful memories, so he hid whiskey in his boots to dull his senses. Most of the time, he stayed away from the other soldiers. They died permanently, and he refused to get too close to anyone who died permanently.

Which meant he didn’t get close to anyone at all.

Until, of course, in the middle of the Battle of Gettysburg, he was in the woods, preparing for the Confederates to flee so he could pick them off as they ran.

And a person sort of… popped into existence beside him.

He let out a rather unmanly squeak as the person’s eyes shot open.

When the person sat up, they turned to Geoff, and he got a good look at the face. He looked young, probably early 20s, and his face was round and feminine. He had hazel eyes and longish red hair, and he let out a long sigh.

“Shit.”

“Oh my god,” Geoff breathed. He rushed over to the redhead and grabbed him tightly by the shoulders. “Kid, what happened to you?”

“Nothing. I fell. Leave me alone.”

“Don’t bullshit me, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!”

Geoff searched the boy’s face. He looked young, but his eyes were old and sad and angry.

“You just died. Didn’t you.” It wasn't a question.

“How did you--”

“Me too,” Geoff whispered. “1779. Executed for traitorous actions against His Royal Majesty the King of Britain. I’m Geoff.”

The boy blinked at him for a second, disbelieving, until he stuck out one hand. “Jack Pattillo. You got a last name?”

Did he?

He hadn’t gone by Fink in years. He’d always changed his last name. Nothing so far stuck.

He thought back to his family back in Charles Town.

His wife.

His daughters.

His son, who was named after Geoff’s dad.

Ramsey.

“Ramsey,” he decided. “Geoff Ramsey.”

“Nice to meet you.”  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He and Jack quickly became inseparable.

He didn’t find out until the 1880s that Jack was a girl, which she gave him shit about for decades.

In the 1920’s, they moved out to Texas again and started a business making, selling, and running alcohol. And he loved it.

Geoff was surprisingly good at organized crime.

He and Jack were highly efficient, and even more highly effective.

Apparently, it was tough for the police to take down a criminal they couldn’t kill.

In ‘26, he lost one of his best employees in a car crash, and though he tried to search for a family to give his driver’s leftover money to, he couldn’t find any connections.

He supposed criminals were loners like that.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He and Jack moved out to California in the 60’s, to a city called Los Santos.

One day, he was walking back to their apartment when he noticed a skinny kid with a big nose tailing him.

When the kid bumped into him, Geoff noticed the slight lack of weight in his left back pocket as the kid apologized profusely.

Geoff didn’t think twice before pulling out his knife and stabbing the kid in the gut.

But when the kid just stared at his wound, chuckled, and then disappeared into a blur, like the kind of glare that happens when you stare at a light for too long, Geoff knew he had found another.

So when he found the kid again about a week and a half later, Geoff just knocked him out and took him back to the apartment, where he and Jack asked the Brit, who identified himself as Gavin Free.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They started a crew, those three criminals.

And it grew.

Ryan came next, The Vagabond, the mad mercenary, the oldest, who hadn’t known of other immortals’ existence, who they hired for a bank job in the 70’s and who got choked up when Geoff came back after being shot in the chest.

Ray and Lindsay were a package deal in the early 90’s, the sniper and the arsonist, who joined after Gavin and Lindsay both died in a plane crash on their way to deliver money to Jack and Geoff.

When Michael came just over 10 years later, he was already a well-known brawler and demolitions expert, referred to amongst the criminal community as Mogar.

Jeremy and Matt joined after Ryan hired them for a job and killed them afterwards, not wanting to leave behind any loose ends, but found them returning to work the next day.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were a family of sorts, the Fake AH Crew.

A family of misfits, of criminals and killers with pain and problems, that was true.

But they were a family nonetheless.

Maybe Geoff had hated his immortality in the beginning.

Now, however, he wouldn’t change his life for shit.


End file.
